


A Stark in the Sheets

by vivilove



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Developing Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, More book canon than show, Political Marriage, Post-Canon, Pregnancy, sexual awakening
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-15 09:36:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16930806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivilove/pseuds/vivilove
Summary: Intimacy had been something they’d had to grow into when they’d married six moons ago. Although they’d never been close as children, it had been an adjustment going from believing they were half-siblings to learning they were cousins to becoming man and wife in a relatively short span of time.Sansa could still recall the stilted atmosphere surrounding them at their wedding feast. The lords and ladies had been unsure how bawdy jests might be received by their king and queen nor certain of the depth of the pair’s affection for one another. Most considered it a purely political match made after the war.But, there was affection between them and desire as well. Not many knew that though. They had not spoken of it to anyone, not even to each other.Perhaps that was the trouble...***Or How Jon and Sansa get married and start having really good sex but still need to learn how to talk to each other!***





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BellaStark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BellaStark/gifts).



> I started this story back in September but it sat at around 3000 words FOREVER! I finally decided to finish it for the Jonsa Secret Santa Exchange on Tumblr. So here is my gift to BellaStark aka @redwolf1283. I hope you enjoy it, my dear :)
> 
> As it says in the tag, this is more Book Canon than Show so Sansa was previously married to Harry. He was a complete dick but not a monster like Ramsay anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you @mynameisnoneya for the lovely pic set!

 

* * *

 

Intimacy had been something they’d had to grow into when they’d married six moons ago. Although they’d never been close as children, it had been an adjustment going from believing they were half-siblings to learning they were cousins to becoming man and wife in a relatively short span of time.

Sansa could still recall the stilted atmosphere surrounding them at their wedding feast. The lords and ladies had been unsure how bawdy jests might be received by their king and queen nor certain of the depth of the pair’s affection for one another. Most considered it a purely political match made after the war.

But, there was affection between them and desire as well. Not many knew that though. They had not spoken of it to anyone, not even to each other.

Perhaps that was the trouble.

There had been a few kisses prior to him leaving for war but marrying was something else entirely and Sansa had been nervous throughout the feast. They’d managed it though. Like the steps of a dance they were still learning, they’d managed it alright, she’d thought.

But, a potential heir to House Stark and the North was something worth celebrating it had been decided in the end and the guests had grown suitably drunk in time.

When the hour began to grow late, her new husband had taken her by the hand, bid the revelers goodnight and they had fled the great hall to avoid the traditional bedding ceremony only for them to face another sort of awkwardness. They’d managed that as well though.

Curious, yet tremulous. Hurried, yet tender. His eyes had grown dark when she’d emerged from behind the screen in her night rail. She’d demurely glanced away from the hair below his navel and the laces of his breeches when he’d caught her staring.

Jon had walked over to where she’d stood, rooted to her spot, and kissed her chastely on the lips before asking her to lie back on the bed. She’d felt rather dizzy as she laid down. She was not a maid but she’d recalled the grasping, unsatisfying and often uncomfortable touches she’d endured with Harry and had hoped Jon might take a gentler approach. Perhaps that was silly of her.

But then, he had done just that. He’d started placing dry kisses on her cheeks and jaw, softer than snowfall. The kisses grew less dry as he moved down towards her chest which was still covered.

“May I?” he’d entreated, toying with the strings at her neck.

“If you wish,” she’d answered in a tone of frank suspicion. Harry had liked her breasts as well but she’d never enjoyed his groping.

“Gods…” he’d groaned before lowering his mouth to her.

Who would’ve suspected that her breasts could serve a purpose other than the nourishment of babes or adding to a man’s pleasure?

 _Gods, indeed,_ she’d thought as she’d fisted the hem of her night rail and hoped none of the mewls that were bubbling in her throat would escape. She’d subtly rubbed her legs together, longing for something to wrap them around. Every nerve in her body had seemed to be straining towards that one area where Jon suckled and teased. Likely, there was nothing proper about any of this but it was already far more pleasant than anything she’d previously experienced.

He’d been panting when he’d finished his attentions, his eyes darker still and a noticeable hardness poking her thigh.

“Would you…” He’d jerked his chin downward.

She’d lifted her night rail to her hips, lying stock still for him and trusting it wouldn’t hurt at least with no maidenhead as a barrier. This had never been pleasant with Harry but it was often over quickly. He’d always left once he’d finished. She’d wondered if Jon would do the same.

“What are you doing?” she’d gasped when he’d moved down between her thighs, his shoulders nudging them apart.

“Uh…nothing,” he’d said sheepishly before moving up to his knees and centering his manhood.

Her present self would’ve kicked her former self for stopping Jon that night. She’d known so little of pleasure back then.

“Alright?” he’d grunted as he’d pushed forward, filling her.

She’d wrapped her arms around his neck and nodded before closing her eyes and waiting for him to move.  It had wound up being far more lovely than she would've anticipated.  In fact, it'd been a struggle to remember to behave like a lady throughout.  

Afterwards, he’d even held her for a time before muttering that she would probably like to get some rest and bidding her goodnight. She had been tired but part of her had wanted him to stay. She hadn’t said it. The very thought of suggesting it would’ve scandalized her back then.

That had been in the beginning though.

Now, intimacy was certainly an aspect of their marriage that Sansa was enjoying very much. Even the coming babe had not diminished her pleasure in it. In fact, it seemed to increase her ardor if anything.

The marriage itself was…well, good but still a work in progress.

 

* * *

 

 

“Are you still displeased with me, Sansa?” Jon asked uncertainly as he closed their chamber door, blocking out the rest of the castle for the night.

Sansa pressed her lips together not wishing to admit that she was.

The quarrel had occurred much earlier in the day but her pride still stung. Knowing he might actually be right in this case hadn’t eased that one whit. He’d been firm and she’d been forced to relent at last, an unusual state of affairs.

“What if I am?” she sniffed as she picked up her needlework.

“Well, in that case…I should enjoy an opportunity to return to your good graces,” he said in that tone of his, the one that brought a grin to her face no matter how cross she was.

“Oh, I don’t know. I’d planned to finish this cap tonight,” she said, hoping she sounded suitably bored by the notion as she held up the soft muslin.

“The babe will have need of it…but I think it might keep another day or so,” he smirked.

She was nearly five moons along now but certainly there was no urgent need for caps to cover the babe’s head just yet.

“I suppose you make a valid point.”

“Of course, I do. Just as I did earlier.”

“Jon,” she said in a warning tone. “You asked if I was displeased with you.”

“Am I doing it again?” he laughed. She grinned and shook her head as he dropped to his knees before her and took her hand in his. “However will I make amends, my lady?”

“Did you bar the door, my lord?”

He nodded, giving her that roguish look which often melted away her bad humor in an instant as he pulled her to her feet.

“What about this? Does this please you, wife?” he rasped a short time later.

“ _Mmm_ …yes.” She rolled her hips to meet his thrust, drawing forth a moan from both of them.

With her belly starting to swell, it was easier for her to be on top or him behind her now. Tonight, she was astride him.

At one time, they would’ve been under the furs and likely partly clothed for the sake of her modesty. But now, she was stark naked on top of them and reveling in the heated looks her husband gave her as his eyes were fixed upon her breasts which had grown in size of late and were bouncing from their movements before returning to her face again. His hands grasped her hips as his thumbs tenderly traced her belly.

“That’s right. Ride me, wife.”

Her cheeks would grow flushed every time he said such things. For an often solemn man by day, Jon could be delightfully wicked by night.

Sansa ran her hands along his chest, no longer conscious of the scars there. They were part of him as much as his skill with a sword was.

She tightened, squeezing him and was pleased by the groan she elicited. She was close and wanted him to finish with her. “More,” she whimpered, knowing it would spur him.

His eyes were black and his nostrils flared as he picked up his pace. He pulled her to him. His teeth grazed her neck and nipped her chin. Her ears were already ringing from the coming bliss. Everything else would fade for a short while when she found it. It was almost like fainting.

He continued whispering such sinfully filthy things as he gripped her hips harder. “Fuck, you’re always so wet for me, wife. Do you know how hard it is for me to sit through all that bickering over pennies and groats when I’d rather be up here doing this to you?”

He cupped one of her breasts and raked his tongue across her nipple before he settled on suckling at it. Sansa arched her back and cried his name. Hard and fast, he slammed into her then as the stars began to twinkle behind her eyelids. She floated in that hazy in-between, murmuring things that Lady Stark would be ashamed to say any other time or place.

When she heard his strangled grunt and felt him relax his hold of her, she knew he’d spilled.

She opened her eyes but instead of the soft, adoring look he often wore once he’d reached his completion, he was scowling.

“What is it?”

“Milk.”

“Milk?”

“There was…milk,” he said as his eyes flickered towards her breasts. “Or something like it at least.”

“Oh!” she gasped. “The maester said that sometimes happens as the birth nears. It’s…” He was still scowling. Was he displeased? Disgusted? “Jon?”

The scowl melted away as she stared back at him concernedly. He kissed her sweetly. “I’m sorry. I was only surprised.”

They washed and Sansa drew on her night rail once more. When they returned to bed, Jon pulled her up close so she could nestle against him and listen to the reassuring thumping of his heart. She sighed and drifted off to sleep, no longer feeling the slightest bit displeased with her husband.

 

* * *

 

Theirs had not been a love match. It was borne of political necessity as well as a desire to heal their lands and they had dutifully entered into as such. True, there was already affection between them and in her heart she had held hope of more. Since they’d reunited, they’d grown closer than they’d ever been as children. So despite the bumps along the way, Sansa believed it was blossoming into a happy marriage.

Or, she’d thought it was...

 

“Are you feeling alright?” Jon had asked with a frown as she’d sat down with a slight groan and took up her knitting the next night by the fire.

“I’m fine.”

“You were grimacing when you sat.”

“My back aches.” The frown had deepened. “It's nothing."

"Has there been any symptoms or..."

"I’m fine, Jon. Thank you for asking.”

“You kept holding your head earlier during the council meeting.”

“The lords were growing loud and quarrelsome.”

“I’ll tell them to be quiet next time.”

She'd laughed at that.  “They all have a right to speak, Jon.  I just wish they wouldn't all speak at once sometimes.”

He'd grumbled but said no more. “Is your stomach upset? You barely touched your supper.”

“The mutton did not agreed with me.”

“Are you feeling sick? You’ve not been sick from the babe in weeks.  Should I fetch the maester?”

“Whatever for? The babe is not to blame for my dislike of overdone mutton."  He'd risen from his place by the fire.  "Please, don’t say anything to the cook.” 

He'd started pacing, apparently considering his next question.  "Earlier...you were, uh...you sounded as though you were having difficulties using the chamber pot when I walked in and…”

"Jon!" she'd gasped, mortified.

"I just wanted to be sure you weren’t having any, um...troubles with your..."

Her eyes had grown round as saucers causing Jon to flush and stop speaking.  Growing intimacy aside, the movement of her bowels was not something she was prepared to discuss with anyone unless absolutely necessary...not even her husband.

“I’m perfectly fine and prefer you not mention...those matters,” she'd sniffed primly. He'd rubbed his hands over his face and she didn't want him to think she wished him gone.  “Would you care to sit down again?”

“No, not just now.  I’ll…I needed to visit the library.”

_The library? Jon wants to look at books at this time of night? Whatever has gotten into him?_

But, she'd nodded and continued her knitting, simply wondering what had gotten into her husband.

 

Jon was Jon. He was caring and attentive to her needs. He asked for her opinion often and respected her position as his queen and as the Lady of Winterfell. However, he was headstrong. Their quarrels never lasted long but they could grow quite heated. Overall though, Sansa had believed their union to be growing into a strong one, inside and outside their chambers.

It was true Jon could be withdrawn at times when he was brooding over some worry. He shared most things with her but some concerns he kept to himself. She was accustomed to his ways by now. It wasn’t as if she didn’t have any flaws of her own.

He was fiercely protective of her. He had been even before circumstances had come about leading to their marriage. No matter how often she told him to stop trying to shield her, she knew he would never stop attempting to do so.

But since the night of their last quarrel, Sansa had grown certain there was some new problem troubling him as he seemed quite closed off from her at times. He was not hurtful or neglecting her exactly. Their days were very busy and filled with duties that often kept them apart, some days especially. It was more that he was more reserved than he'd seemed since he'd returned from war.

And at night, a curious pattern had begun to develop.

Jon had always initiated their marital relations. That was the way of things and Sansa would’ve blushed to suggest it herself. It was expected of men after all. Even in that first few weeks of their marriage before he’d officially made her chambers his chambers as well, he’d come to her room as she was brushing out her hair at night. They might talk for a time by the fire but it was never long till he was taking her hand in his larger, rougher one and asking if she felt inclined or not that evening in a husky tone that made her shiver with delight.

They’d both been pleased when she’d missed her moonblood so soon after they’d wed but that had not stopped him from bedding her regularly. He was not a demanding husband in the least but he still asked most nights and Sansa would nearly always agree.

Except the past several nights, he hadn’t asked. He hadn’t asked or suggested or hinted at all. He would simply snuff the candle, give her a perfunctory kiss and go to sleep.

Some nights, Jon would be snoring away as Sansa lay beside him trying to decide if she was disappointed by this or not. Ladies were not supposed to crave carnal relations she’d been taught but with Jon she had grown to crave them though it would be embarrassing to admit it aloud.

And then sometimes, he was quiet and unnaturally still beside her and she would become more and more certain he was awake as well.

One of those nights, she decided she could indeed initiate relations with her husband if he would not.

Sansa snuggled closer and sighed. She felt him tensing in response. She laid a hand upon his chest. He had taken to wearing small clothes to bed but his chest was still bare. For a few minutes, she gently caressed him and felt him relaxing at her touch. She felt positively wicked as she allowed her hand to glide further down his chest. His breathing grew shallower. By the time she was touching his stomach, his muscles were taunt again. And when she started to trace the hairs peeking above his small clothes with her fingertips, she heard a huff.

“I’m sorry, wife. I’m afraid I’m very tired tonight,” he said gruffly before he eased her hand away and turned to his side.

Her whole face burned with mortification and she felt tears pricking her eyes. She wanted to say something or maybe shout at him…or cry. But instead, she lay there hurt and confused and trying to rationalize it all. It was ages before she fell asleep as she attempted to make sense of this change between them. This was part of their marriage she’d thought she understood well enough until now.

The following night, when it was time to retire to their chambers, Jon surprised her yet again. She was already climbing into bed when Jon started throwing back on his tunic.  
“I’m sorry. I forgot there was a matter I’d promised to speak with Sam about.”

Sansa had laid awake for a good while waiting for him but in the end exhaustion had won out. He had not woke her when her returned to their chambers.

The next night, Sansa decided to forgo her night rail and climbed under the furs naked as her name day. She felt quite bold and wanton and looked forward to his response. He wouldn’t be able to resist her, she hoped.

Jon’s eyes had widened when he started to join her. She saw him clenching and unclenching his burned hand. His eyes were nearly black. Perhaps now he would…

“Forgive me, wife. I’m feeling a bit ill. I need to see the maester.”

“Oh! Shall I go with you?”

“No, no. I’m sure I’ll be fine.” He gave her a sweet smile and said, “Get some rest, my love,” before he left.

 _My love_. Never before had he called her that. Surely, she was imagining all these worries if he would say that.

But once more, Jon did not return that night until she was already fast asleep.

When a fortnight had passed with no relations between herself and Jon, there came a morning when Sansa awoke and found his side of the bed untouched. She threw on her dressing gown to search for her husband. He was already dressed and standing over his desk in the solar.

“I fell asleep working on paperwork of all things,” he said. But there was a guilty look in his tired eyes.

 _He would not lie to me,_ she tried to tell herself.

The following night he’d said he would be meeting with Tormund and the Free Folk until late. She was not terribly surprised when she awoke alone and only hoped Jon had not drank too much of Tormund’s fermented goat’s milk. It always gave him a headache.

But curiously, she later learned that Tormund had been called away unexpectedly last night and she wondered if the meeting had even taken place.

The next few nights, the Lady of Winterfell found herself going to bed alone more often. Her husband would sometimes be beside her come morning and sometimes not. Either way, she laid down each night and awoke each morning with a heavy stone sitting in her chest where her heart should be.

 _He no longer desires me_ , she came to accept at last. No other explanations would serve. He’d had his fun and had grown tired of her charms, she fretted.

Theirs had been a political marriage, at least on the surface, but Sansa had also been foolish enough to believe it had grown into more even though neither of them had said as much. She should have known better. Had she not learned her lessons when it came to matters of the heart? Was she so desperate for love that she’d tricked herself into believing that he might love her? Might truly want her? Not Winterfell and not the security that her claim had brought him but her for herself.

_Yes, I did. I should’ve known better. He wants an heir and soon I will bear him a child._

Then, the process might repeat itself. If she gave him a daughter, he would still want a son. If she gave him a son, he might wish for another. But he would never love her the way she had grown to love him. She would be his wife, his lady, his queen but after she’d finished giving him children, would he ever come to her bed again?

She wiped the tears from her eyes and tried to go about her day.

Her business that morning took her to the section of the castle where high born guests would stay when they visited. She heard a door open and paused to greet whichever servant was cleaning the chambers recently occupied by Lord Cerwyn.

But it was no servant that emerged. It was Jon, looking tired and fiddling with his tunic. What was he doing there? If he wished to sleep elsewhere, why not his old chambers?

Sansa started to say something but heard another voice and crept back into a nearby alcove.

“Do you wish to use this chamber again tonight, milord?” a woman’s voice asked.

“Aye, it’ll do. A bed is a bed, is it not, Bess?”

Bess giggled and said, “You left your cloak, milord.”

“Thank you. I’m still half asleep,” Jon chuckled.

Sansa could not understand what she was hearing. Why was he sleeping here? And why did the current of this conversation make her see red?

Soon, blushing and buxom Bess was seen exiting the chamber with Jon behind her and Sansa felt ill as her nascent suspicion grew into certainty. She carried his child and he was carrying on with another woman as he avoided their bed. Was he as big a monster as those other men she’d known?

 _Bigger. He made me believe. I trusted him. I loved him_.

Of all the wounds her heart had suffered, this was the most painful somehow. Sansa waited till she was certain he’d left in the other direction before she swiftly returned to her own chambers to cry her heart out.

* * *

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We weren’t in love. He had lovers and did not often come to my bed. I overheard whispers that he called me cold. ‘A Stark in the sheets with ice in her veins,’ they tittered behind my back. When he did come to my bed, he was never concerned with my feelings or my...comfort,” she’d admitted one night in his arms, the tears silently rolling down her face.
> 
> It was all she’d ever said of the man who’d taken her maidenhead. How could he have been so uncaring towards her? How could anyone find her cold who’d ever attempted to get to know her? 
> 
> And how are you any better than him? Leaving her alone, denying her your heart, making her guess as to your motives by avoiding her and as much as confirming all those old fears. No wonder she could barely look at me. I can barely stand myself.
> 
> Perhaps he’d had good intentions worrying over her and the babe but he now realized how spectacularly he’d bungled it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for a peek inside Jon's noggin.

* * *

 

“Are you calling me an idiot, Sam?” Jon asked.

“I would never.”

“You’re an idiot,” Gilly said. The two men gaped at her. “It’s true. Why else are you avoiding your wife?”

“I’m not avoiding her. We broke our fast together not half an hour ago.”  Granted, Sansa had pretended he didn't exist throughout the meal and when he'd attempted to initiate some conversation her icy gaze could've frozen the balls off an Other. 

“But you avoid her at night.”

“I’m…how do you know that?”

“You don’t think the whole castle knows?”

“Sansa has not said anything to me about…the whole castle?!”  

Gilly rolled her eyes at him and nodded. “If everyone else is gossiping about how the king is no longer frequenting his queen’s bed, I’m certain Sansa’s noticed her husband no longer sleeps next to her. If she’s not said anything, maybe it’s because she thinks this is what you want. Is it what you want?”

“What?! No! She’s…she’s with child, Gilly.”

“Really?” Gilly replied sarcastically.

“I’m merely trying to be respectful of her condition.”

“By avoiding her?”

“No. Well, yes. The other night she was…” He scrubbed awkwardly at the back of his neck. “When we were abed, there was…milk. Her breasts were…”

Gilly frowned at him. “And this disgusted you?”

“NO! It just reminded me that she’s drawing nearer to her time and there's so much that can happen. I found a book in the library and was reading it to see if milk this early could be a sign of…”

“Wait.  Are you saying you read a book...voluntarily?” Sam asked in an insultingly dubious manner.

Jon scowled at his friend and continued.  “I just don’t want to do anything to endanger her or the babe by having, uh...relations with her.”  Now, he was staring at his boots, embarrassed to meet Gilly's eye.

“Endanger her or the babe? Oh, yes. T’would be a pity if you mortally wounded either of them with your mighty sword, Your Grace,” she said in a scathing tone that would cause any male ego to shrivel up and die on the spot. It certainly did his.

“When you put it that way…”

“And have you explained your worries to her?”

“Well…no.”

“Hmm. And yet you sit here asking my husband if he thinks your wife is displeased with you?”

“I’m, uh…” He _knew_ she was displeased with him.  He'd just been hoping someone would tell him he was imagining it.  Gilly raised her eyebrows and Jon suddenly realized how stupid he had been. “I _am_ an idiot.  Gods, I've got to...excuse me.”

Jon rose from Sam’s study and hurried off to find her. If everyone was talking about him avoiding their bed, of course she'd bloody well noticed!  And didn't that make him the North's biggest arse for thinking somehow she'd overlook that?  Not to mention what she must assume of his reasons based upon her behavior towards him earlier.  He wasn’t sure why he’d let this go on so long without speaking of it.  And other things…

_That’s your fault though. Too much keeping things to yourself, not enough sharing with your wife._

He’d been used to keeping his own counsel for so long, constantly on guard. Being murdered by his own men hadn’t helped that.  Political maneuvering and the wars had left him even more jaded and cautious. It wasn’t easy for him to open up to others, even those he loved and trusted.

She was a dutiful wife and clever queen but more than that Sansa was his beloved. He harbored no expectations of her reciprocating his feelings but of course he'd hoped that in time she might. She’d sacrificed her own potential happiness for his sake though and, while he might not be as loathsome as her last husband had been, he feared theirs was yet another match she’d been pushed into.

For his own part, he’d felt a distinct inclination for her even before their marriage but he would not say it had been love precisely back then. Once they’d wed, he’d promised himself that he would be a faithful and attentive husband to her.

But before long, he’d found himself falling irrevocably in love with his wife. It had been the easiest thing in the world to do, perhaps because she was so easy to love. Gracious and kind despite the horrors she'd known, steadfast but merciful and possessing a steely courage he admired, she was everything a queen should be but it was the woman underneath who had stolen his heart.  That spark in her blue eyes when they’d quarrel, the sweet ache she stirred within him when her voice was lifted in song, the quiet but radiant beauty of Sansa as she labored over her needlework by the fire…all that and a thousand other little things thrown together amounted to him loving her with a fierce devotion which frightened him sometimes. But could she ever grow to love him that way?

 _Not with the way you’ve acted of late_ , he lamented.

His closed-off ways had led to more than a few quarrels in the past and even recently when he’d spring a decision on her in public without consulting her first in private. He meant to do better. He was trying.

But in this instance, he’d done more than cause a riff over lands grants, taxes or rebuilding plans. He’d hurt her in a far more profound way with his silence and his absence.

Sansa was still Sansa; courteous, intelligent and witty. Except now, all of those things that were part of his lady wife, Jon had begun to realize were only directed towards others the past two days. Towards himself, she’d grown as cold as the winds of winter.  When he would speak to her, she would respond with a distant civility that was all wrong. None of the warmth and caring of his beloved was in evidence. He could not understand why.

_Yes, you do. You have neglected your duties as her husband but worse you have neglected to share your heart with her._

_I only wanted to protect her._

_From your mighty sword, was it?_

Gilly’s words shamed him.

The last night they’d loved he’d been surprised by the traces of milk leaking from her teats so early. He’d fretted that it signaled the babe might come too soon. He’d lived somewhere between terror and elation since she’d told him of her pregnancy.  On one hand, he was joyful at the thoughts of a child of his own blood, that sweet dream he'd never dared hope for when he was just a bastard in the Nights Watch.  On the other, he could not help worrying when he remembered the fate of his own mother and all the other women who did not survive the ordeal of childbirth. He’d tried to express it to her the following night but he couldn’t get the words to come out right and Sansa had been shocked by his fumbling attempts and indelicate questions.

And now, there was this new worry. His heart clenched painfully at the thoughts of their babe coming too soon and not surviving but he thought it might pain him even more for Sansa to suffer such heartbreak. He’d do anything to spare her that pain if he could.

_And yet, you’ve caused her pain._

He’d lain awake a long time worrying over the coming babe and continuing relations with his wife. He’d meant to ask the maester about it but speaking of such matters did not always come easily. He could’ve asked Tormund or Sam but one would laugh and the other would make him feel ridiculous as he quoted something he’d read in a book.

_You could also have asked your wife, you fool._

Instead, he’d found an old text in the library from some maester long dead and read on his own about all the potential hazards of pregnancy and childbirth. Needless to say, by the time he’d finished he was thoroughly spooked and decided his best course would be to avoid relations with Sansa until after she’d given birth.

_And did you share your decision with her?_

He grimaced. He had not.

To ease his conscience, he’d told himself she might be relieved by the break. It had not been a love match. She had said they could marry to bind their suffering kingdom together after the war. They both knew it was the only way the North would ever accept him as king again.

“Our duty to our people comes first, doesn't it?  I know this is not something either of us would've ever dreamt of when we were younger but...I want our home and children, Jon. I want us safe and to rebuild in peace,” she’d told him with tears upon her cheeks the day they’d discussed marrying. “Is that so much to ask?”

He’d tried saying she could have those things with another man, a man she truly loved this time, but in the end he’d bit his tongue and agreed to wed her. He’d wanted Winterfell. He’d wanted a family. But more than that, he’d wanted her. He’d wanted all of it and all of her. He was a selfish bastard after all, it would seem.

_Speaking of wants..._

If it were up to him, he’d have her on her back every night and several times a day but Sansa was a lady, a lady at all times to his eyes. She could not possibly desire her beast of a husband to always be lifting her skirts. And, she had never been forward when it came to their loving in the way Ygritte had been. Perhaps that was merely a difference between a gently-reared high born girl and the Free Folk but part of him feared she only agreed to sex as often as she did to please him.

True, she did appear to enjoy their intimacy now but he had not forgotten how formal and uncertain she had been at first. Those early couplings of her lying stiff as a board beneath him, grasping the bedding while her mouth and eyes were tightly shut as he rutted between her thighs and puffed to his peak had made him fearful of her ever enjoying their marital relations.

But then, there had come a night when she’d moaned his name just as he’d spilled. Her eyes had popped open as he stared at her, afraid he’d imagined it. Her cheeks had flushed the loveliest pink and she’d refused to meet his eye.

“Sansa, did you…”

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it. Please, don’t speak of it,” she’d whispered.

“You’re sorry? Don’t be sorry. Don’t be ashamed of finding pleasure in it, wife.”

“I shouldn’t…Ladies do not…desire such things.”

 _Who told you such lies?_ he'd wondered.  He’d cupped her face and longed to tell her how much he loved her then. Instead, he’d opted for reassuring her worries. “Nonsense. Why shouldn’t ladies enjoy it same as anyone else? I want you to enjoy it and I want to _know_ you’re enjoying it as well.”

“You do? Truly?” she’d asked, her innocence with that question cutting him to the quick.

“Aye, always,” he’d sworn and then sealed his pledge with a kiss.

After that, things in the marriage bed had improved remarkedly. Not that he’d found her lacking before considering her previous experiences but once she’d felt free to express her pleasure…the sounds she made, gods! He could not possibly get enough of her moans, quiet whimpers and those delicious little mewls she would make as he loved her.  Sansa's sexual awakening, from shy questions to her eager willingness to allow him to teach her, had been the loveliest experience he'd ever known.  But, he’d still worked to ensure he never did anything to alarm her or bring back unwanted memories of her past marriage to Hardyng when they were abed together.

“We weren’t in love. He had lovers and did not often come to my bed. I overheard whispers that he called me cold. ‘A Stark in the sheets with ice in her veins,’ they tittered behind my back. When he did come to my bed, he was never concerned with my feelings or my...comfort,” she’d admitted one night in his arms, the tears silently rolling down her face.

It was all she’d ever said of the man who’d taken her maidenhead. How could he have been so uncaring towards her?  How could anyone find her cold who’d ever attempted to get to know her?  She was a Stark like himself and sometimes they might appear stern to an outsider or an enemy. But, she was open and giving with those she trusted.  Her heart was made for love. If he'd shown her a little patience and tenderness, he would've found it returned ten-fold.  If only he'd tried to understand her a little bit, Ser Harrold would never have called her cold. It enraged Jon that she’d been wounded by an arse who had obviously known nothing beyond seeking his own pleasure. He sometimes wished Hardyng was still alive if only so he could kill him.

_And how are you any better than him? Leaving her alone, denying her your heart, making her guess as to your motives by avoiding her and as much as confirming all those old fears.  No wonder she could barely look at me.  I can barely stand myself._

Perhaps he’d had good intentions worrying over her and the babe but he now realized how spectacularly he’d bungled it all.

At first, he’d lain in bed beside her but the temptation difficult to bear. He’d wake hard and aching and knew his resolve would soon break.  The night she’d touched him, he’d come so close. Her innocent touches were likely just that. She would often explore his body with her hands after they’d loved but she never touched his cock except upon rare occasions in the midst of love-making.

_And what do you think she meant by climbing into bed stark naked a couple of nights later, hmmm? Think she was just too warm in her shift, idiot?_

_Gods…_

So to avoid the wants of his body, he’d tried using excuses for a time to come to bed late or not at all. But Sam and Gilly grew tired of him invading their own private moments at the end of the day. Then, he’d discovered that Tormund had left the castle unexpectedly the very night he’d used that excuse. If Sansa had discovered his falsehood, he was certain she would have been angry and hurt.

The servants would look at him curiously when he’d be sitting up in the great hall alone at all hours and he realized he was keeping them from their beds. At last, he’d found an empty chamber to sleep in the past few nights just to avoid the stares. Somehow, it had seemed more temporary to use guest chambers rather than his old ones. He wasn’t sure why that had made sense at the time. Perhaps so many nights with little sleep had left him addled.  He'd given poor Bess a fright when she'd stumbled upon him the other morning.    

And it was then that he’d noticed the change in Sansa, the cold distance, the withdrawal.

 _You withdrew first_ , his conscience told him. _Who could blame her for sealing off her heart?_

In the face of this new coldness, it was suddenly and painfully obvious how much affection she’d shown him since they’d wed. He might vex her at times just as she occasionally vexed him but their marriage had been happy before he’d essentially abandoned her out of fear.    

_Could she think I don’t desire her? Could she believe I do not love her?_

_You’ve bedded her plenty but when have you ever told her you loved her?_

He nervously licked his lips like an animal who is trapped and knows it. Never had he said those words to his lady. Even if she never said them back, he could’ve said them to her.  

He was a fool and he had not only displeased his wife, he’d hurt her. This would take more than a happy hour abed to mend but Jon was nothing if not determined to do so.

He went to their chambers first but his wife was not there. He checked the solar but no Sansa. Next, he sought her in the great hall, the kitchens and the library. With a rising panic, he left the castle asking guards, servants and stable hands if they’d seen his wife and their lady. All shook their heads. He headed to the godswood. She was not there either. She had disappeared.

His hands trembled and his heart ached.  What had he done?  Had he lost her?

_Has she left me?_

“Where did she go?!” he shouted at the ancient Weirwood.

The gods were as silent as they always were.

_Or perhaps not…_

The soft trod of paws upon fallen leaves had him turning. “Ghost,” he said, running his hand through the thick fur of his companion who seemed to have materialized out of thin air. “I need you, boy.  Where is our lady?”

The direwolf sat back on his haunches and gave him a baleful look, his red eyes full of judgment.

“I know, I know but she is my wife. She’s with child. No matter how stupid I’ve been, it isn’t safe for her to leave Winterfell alone. What if an unexpected storm comes upon her? There are still deserters and broken men out there and…”

He fell silent as Ghost continued to stare at him.

“Please…” he croaked in his misery, determined to try one last time. “I must find her and try to make things right.  She's my...Ghost, she is my life, she's what makes it worth living.”

Ghost snorted loudly and then rose to his feet. He shook his great head as if he was beckoning Jon to follow. Together, man and wolf left the godswood and then the castle behind.

* * *

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her head turned his way and he knew she was considering her options. Several villagers had emerged from their homes and were watching them now. It did not concern him but it would bother her. If he thought it would help his cause, he’d kneel in the mud and beg her forgiveness in front of them all but Sansa would not relish a dramatic scene.
> 
> “My horse is nearby. Will you give me an hour of your time, my lady? Give me an hour and I will do my best to explain my heart to you. Then, you may do with it what you will.”
> 
> “Your heart? How am I to do anything with that which belongs to you?” she scoffed though he detected the hurt underneath.
> 
> Scenes be damned, he knelt then. He knelt in the mud in front of them all but for her and her alone. Her eyes widened as he spoke, willing her to know every word was said in earnest. “But my heart is already yours, my love. It has been for some time now...”

 

* * *

 

“Are you certain you're not unwell, Your Grace?” the baker asked for the fourth time.

“I’m perfectly fine.” _All except my heart_. “Just a bit tired from the exertion, I suppose.”

She thanked the baker and his wife prettily again for indulging her with a place to rest her feet after her busy morning and promised she’d be ready to move on soon.  They both claimed they were honored by her presence and not to rush off but she figured she was imposing.  

Wintertown was a hive of activity.  She hadn't planned to visit today but when the notion had struck, she'd asked a reliable guard to accompany her and left straight away.  She'd visited many throughout the morning. It was good for the people to see their queen taking an interest in their economy and to commiserate with them over their losses during the wars.

On a more selfish note, she’d been dying to escape her husband’s anxious looks and brooding melancholy along with the whispers of the servants as they sat stiffly beside each other in the hall during breakfast. More than once, Jon had attempted to engage her in conversation but she could barely stand looking at him after her discovery and she’d avoided speaking with him more than absolutely necessary since then.

However, the diversion had not kept Jon from her thoughts as she’d hoped. Typically, they would make these visits together. The last time they’d come, they’d rode there on horseback, just his horse with her up front and Jon behind, holding her tightly. It made her tummy flutter to recall his arms around her, his lips brushing her neck every so often. She’d flushed as the smallfolk had watched them, grinning at their king and queen, and finally told him they must behave for the sake of propriety.

“Must we, wife?” he’d teased.

She hadn’t known what to say to that and had nestled contently back into his arms instead.

Today, she’d noticed more than one curious glance when the smallfolk saw that their king had not joined her. They might have to grow used to seeing them here separately.

_Perhaps he will make his own visits from now on. Perhaps he’ll find some other companionship here preferable to his wife’s when he isn’t forced to do his duty and get her with child again._

She swallowed hard and steeled her resolve. She would speak to him of that. He would not shame her in their home. If he had desires, he could find his satisfaction elsewhere. Better a brothel than the maids, she told herself though there was nothing remotely comforting in that. At least, she would not worry her own household was laughing at her.

The baker’s hearth was warm and comforting.  She was very tired from her walk and after so many nights of indifferent sleep. Her eyes grew heavy and the lull of her guard’s conversation with the baker was making her head begin to bob.

But then, her eyes flew open as there was a great commotion outside. Gareth had his hand upon the hilt of his sword as Ghost barreled through the baker’s door causing the lady of the house to shriek.

“Ghost!” Sansa scolded as she rose to her feet. “What’s gotten into you?!”

For such an enormous beast, the direwolf flattened his ears and gave her a puppyish look of remorse, reminding her of the little thing he’d once been. Her heart clenched at the reminder of the six pups that had been found in the snow all those years ago and she found herself smiling at him.

“We'll forgive you this once but this is not courteous behavior.  You mustn’t barge into people’s homes or frighten this good woman so.”

He whimpered his apologies and turned back towards the door just as her husband entered. His countenance reminded her strangely of the penitent animal.

The look faded though and he appeared cross the very next moment. “There you are at last!” he exclaimed. “Where have you been all morning?! I thought I'd lost you!  I was nearly mad with worry!  I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

He strode over to her, barely acknowledging the others. He took her hand in his and started rubbing it as though she was chilled and needed warming. _It is not my hand that feels the cold and if I am chilled, it is your fault._

“Have you? Well, you have found me. No need to worry yourself needlessly, Your Grace,” she said, unable to keep the ice from her tone. She wanted to behave civilly in front of others but she found herself quite irked by his unexpected appearance and feigned concern.

He scowled. He did not like it when she called him ‘Your Grace’ or when she rejected his protective urges.

_There are many things I do not like which I am forced to live with. You can do the same._

“My lady,” he said more softly now and that penitent look had returned. “I fear I have made a horrible blunder.  I must to speak with you at once…privately.”

 _A blunder?  Is that a euphemism for infidelity now?  And must?_  

Now, he _must_ speak with her? Well, wasn’t that too bad? “It’s been a long morning. I wish to return home and rest.”

“So, you're not going anywhere else?  You are planning to return home?” he asked anxiously.  

Of course, she was. Where else was she supposed to go? She nodded and clasped her hands together to still their shaking. He was not making it easy for her to control her emotions.

“I’ll escort you back,” he said, offering his arm.

She kept her hands in front of her.  She did not wish to touch him.  “I have Gareth here to…”

“You’re dismissed to find your own way back to the castle at your leisure,” he brusquely told the guard. “I’ll see my wife safely returned.”

Her temper flared but she would do her utmost to remain calm. “Jon, I do not want…”

“I insist, Sansa.”

That did it. “NO! You will insist on nothing! I will not return with you and will not speak with you privately! I have nothing to say to you since you clearly have no use for me beyond procuring an heir! Stay here or go as you please, Your Grace! It makes little difference to me!”

Jon’s mouth fell open and the baker’s wife gasped. Sansa clamped her own mouth shut, unable to believe the vehemence and volume with which she’d just spoken and in the presence of their subjects, too. She blinked back hot tears of anger and misuse before fleeing the baker’s home as quickly as she could.

 _You cannot hurt me anymore,_ she told herself as she went. But in her heart, she knew that was a lie.

 

* * *

 

 

They likely made quite a spectacle as she paced ahead of him, her long legs carrying her swiftly along the muddy lane as he fought the urge to not only break into a run but to pick her up and carry her away like some wildling.

“Sansa, wait! Come back here and talk to me! Seven hells, Sansa!  Stop!”

But she did not and he was ruining everything all over again.

His long hunt for her all morning had left him increasingly panicked and frustrated.  He'd kept picturing her heartsick and alone or maybe injured in the woods or possibly captured by brigands...something.  When he'd found her at last safely ensconced in the baker's home, he’d allowed his temper get the best of him. However, chasing her down and shouting at her like some errant child in the midst of Wintertown was precisely what he shouldn’t be doing. She thought he did not truly care about her and his boorish display at the baker’s and now were doing nothing to prove her wrong.

He forced himself to stop mid-stride and called to her one more time. “Wife, forgive me for shouting.  I will not chase you all the way to the castle. If you wish to go without me, permit me to send Gareth along to escort you but I would very much like to speak with you. Will you please give me the opportunity to do so?”

She paused, willing to listen to a request over an order. He should’ve adopted that manner to begin with. He would never be as adept at his courtesies as she was hers but that did not mean he didn’t possess them.

He could hear the baker and the guard snickering behind him. Every man in Wintertown could laugh at him for all he cared. He only wanted her to give him a chance to make amends.

“Sansa, I have been a great fool but I promise that you are far more to me than the means of procuring an heir. Please, give me a chance to explain myself and apologize for the dreadful mistakes I’ve made.”

Her head turned his way and he knew she was considering her options. Several villagers had emerged from their homes and were watching them now. It did not concern him but it would bother her. If he thought it would help his cause, he’d kneel in the mud and beg her forgiveness in front of them all but Sansa would not relish a dramatic scene.

“My horse is nearby. Will you give me an hour of your time, my lady? Give me an hour and I will do my best to explain my heart to you. Then, you may do with it what you will.”

“Your heart? How am I to do anything with that which belongs to you?” she scoffed though he detected the hurt underneath.

Scenes be damned, he knelt then.  He knelt in the mud in front of them all but he knelt for her and her alone.  Her eyes widened as he spoke, willing her to know every word was said in earnest.  “But my heart is already yours, my love. It has been for some time now. Sansa, I am sincerely sorry for the pain I’ve caused you and for this riff between us of my making.  Please, wife...”

Her chin quivered slightly and her eyes were a brighter blue with the tears she was struggling to conceal. She did not walk off though and leave him kneeling in the mud. Here in the daylight, he saw the dark circles under her eyes and the strain she’d been living with for nearly a moon, another reminder of how he’d wounded her.

He rose and offered her his arm, allowing her to take it or not. She did not. That was not unexpected and he swallowed his disappointment past the lump in his throat.

She hugged herself and asked, “Where did you wish to go speak?”

“Wherever you’ll allow, my lady. I had thought the Wolfswood but…”

“That will do,” she said with a jerky nod.

She followed him to his horse and eyed him suspiciously when he helped her to mount. He did not climb up after her. He did not deserve to ride with his arms wrapped around her like last time.

He led the horse away from Wintertown and the amused small folk and out into the woods. Ghost followed them at a distance. She said nothing to him as she rode but he could feel her eyes on him. He said nothing either. He had to watch where he was leading them and he also feared that if he misspoke now, she might grasp the reins from him and flee.

At last, they came to a quiet glade by a stream where Jory Cassel had taught him and Robb to fish as boys.  He wondered if his lady wife knew that.  Perhaps he would tell her another day if she should like to hear it. Now, there were more important matters to discuss, things he should've shared a good while ago.

He helped her down and laid the saddle blanket upon the ground for her to sit if she wished. She chose to sit upon a fallen log, keeping her distance. He was not surprised.

He sat on the blanket alone and plucked a blue wildflower, twirling it between his fingers as he tried to compose his words, not the easiest thing for him. Autumn was fading and winter was coming. Her hair rippled like flame in the dappled sunlight of the woods. He loved her with all his heart and was endanger of losing her all because of fear.

“Sansa, I am sorry for what I’ve done,” he said at last.

“What precisely are you sorry for, my lord?”

“I stopped having relations with you, making a decision for us both that was not mine to make alone.  I avoided our bed and avoided you without sharing why.  In doing so, I have left you in doubt of both my affection and devotion when you deserve nothing less than being assured of it each and every day.”

“And what else?”

That was not expected.  “What do you mean?”

“Are you going to deny seeking companionship elsewhere?”

“Companionship?” His eyes widened as he caught her meaning. “Never have I been unfaithful to you,” he swore.

Her brow furrowed. “But I saw you the other morning. I saw the serving girl…Bess. I heard her asking you about using the same bed again.  I saw the two of you coming from the guest chambers. She handed you your cloak.”

“I slept there because I was tired…a very tired idiot,” he chuckled but quickly quashed that to meet her eye.  She thought him guilty of adultery.  Humor had no place here.  “I slept there alone, my love.  Bess happened upon me when she came to clean the chambers. That was all. Ask her if you doubt me. Sansa, you are my wife. You are all the woman I could ever want. I have been an arse but I would never dishonor or hurt you that way…though the gods know I have done enough to hurt you of late.”

She studied him, seeking the truth, he supposed. He awaited her judgment.

 

* * *

 

Sansa watched him staring back at her. There was no lie in those grey eyes. Jon had not been unfaithful as she’d feared. She’d jumped to the wrong conclusion in her anger and hurt. But this revelation did not diminish the torment of the past few days completely and it certainly did not erase the pain of the past few weeks.

"I believe you."  He closed his eyes in relief.  "But, if I am your wife and all that you could want, why have you stopped treating me as such? Why do you avoid our bed and me?”

He laid the flower aside with a sigh. “Because that last night we loved, there was milk.”

“I don’t understand.” She didn’t. She barely recalled him mentioning it until he said it again.

“After you fell asleep, I started worrying about you and the babe. Your time is still a good ways off. What if the babe came too early?”

“I told you the maester said it was nothing unusual.”

“Aye, you did. But I wanted reassurance and I sought it in the wrong place. I read an old book that probably told me far more than I needed to know. I became convinced that our intimacy might be dangerous in your state.”

“You read a book?"

"I _can_ read," he said petulantly.  Perhaps she'd sounded a bit dubious when she'd asked it.  For the first time in days, she had the urge to smile. 

"I know you can read.  You were worried about me? About the child?”

“Of course, I was. The book claimed that a woman's peak could bring on her pains and it was best if she never reached it."

"Must have been written by a man."  

"Without a doubt," he chuckled.  "I couldn't imagine engaging in our intimacy without trying to bring you pleasure as well."

The maester had in fact warned her that her peak could trigger 'false pains' but assured her it shouldn't be any cause for concern.  She'd never shared that with Jon, too embarrassed to discuss such matters.  _We must both learn to speak freely about any topic_.  

He glanced up at her, his eyes serious again.  "Sansa, I'm afraid.  I cannot bear the thought of losing you. I’m more frightened at the thought of you possibly dying in child bed than I ever was in battle. My mother…you're not much older than she was and...” He looked away without finishing, biting his lip.

She considered his words in connection with his actions. “It sounds like a dreadful book.”

“I suppose it is. I shouldn’t have read it in a state of worry and ignorance. Little do I know of such things and I should’ve sought the counsel of one who was better informed than myself.”

“The maester or Sam?”

“No, wife,” he smiled. “I meant you. You told me not to worry and I should’ve listened. I should’ve had faith in you or asked more questions if I was worried.”

“I recall you trying to ask questions.”

“Yes, I’m sorry if they were blunt or...”

“No, don’t be sorry for that. You were just trying to learn. I shouldn’t have allowed my embarrassment to make you feel as if your concerns weren't welcome or valid.”

“I will not pretend I’m not still lost at the thought of something going wrong with...” He couldn’t finish his sentence.

What remained of her anger and hurt faded to nearly nothing. She rose and joined him on the blanket. He smiled tentatively as she straightened her skirts and then put her hand in his. He offered her the flower he’d been holding earlier. His smile grew wider when she accepted it. She tucked it into her braid and his hand rose hesitantly towards her hair. She nodded subtly, inviting him to touch it if he wished.  His fingers were trembling when he did. 

He was not a monster, just a man. Perhaps he’d been foolish but she could’ve been more forthright with him. Either way, the choice was hers. She could nurse her resentments or she could let them go and let love in. Sansa chose love.

He was worried about her and their babe. He had gone off seeking reassurance and instead found horror stories of women dying in their bed of blood and babes as well. She should have Sam or the maester find that book and lock it away. What good would fretting endlessly do either of them? What harm had it done already?

She was ashamed of the tears that sprang to her eyes but she had to say it.  “I thought you didn’t want me anymore.”

He sadly shook his head.  “I am so sorry for making you feel that way. I do want you. I think of you constantly. I stopped coming to our bed because I wanted you so and feared I’d never be able to control myself with you lying close to me.”

“Harry called me cold. I feared you might think the same.  I thought maybe I was what they said, 'a Stark in the sheets with...”

“Gods, Sansa. Harry was an arse.  You're not remotely cold in bed.”

“You didn’t think me frigid when we wed?”

“No, I merely thought you inexperienced. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“I wasn't a maiden.  How could I be inexperienced?”

“Because your former husband wasn’t much of a lover.”

She laughed and nodded in agreement. “No, he wasn’t…but you are.” He blushed. Sansa thought it might’ve been the sweetest thing she’d ever seen. "All this over a bit of milk, then?”

“I know. I was stupid. I’m sorry, Sansa. Can you forgive me?”

She smiled at his anxious face. _Who wants to harbor wrath and feelings of misuse towards those who mean the most to them? Not I._

“I forgive you.” The heavy stone in her chest seemed to float away. She leaned her head upon his shoulder and he wrapped an arm around her. As if in response to his parents regained harmony, the babe began to move. “His kicks are getting stronger,” she said quietly. She’d wanted to tell him the other day.

“They are?” His eyes flitted downwards with an endearingly tender look.

“They may be strong enough for you to feel now.”

“May I?” She placed his hand upon her belly. She could tell the moment he felt it. His eyes grew bright like a boy’s. “She’s strong,” he said, his voice gruff with emotion.

“Still convinced it’s a girl?”

“Aye, as much as you’re convinced it’s a boy.”

They sat there for a time, Jon with his hand on her until the babe settled again. “I want everything to go perfectly but there are no guarantees, Jon. You know that.” He nodded. “You think I do not worry for you whenever you leave with sword in hand to deal with some danger?”

“I know you do. You do not always say it but I can see the worry in your eyes when I leave.”

“Then, I suppose my only remaining question is why did you not share your worries with me, especially since they concerned me?”

“I feared that perhaps you might not wish to hear the why. It’s quite simple really. I was a coward who thought you might never feel the same for me as I do for you. I know the reasons we wed but every day we’ve spent rebuilding our home and every night when I’ve held you in my arms, I’ve fallen a little bit more in love with you, Sansa.”

“You have?” she blinked, joy filling her from head to toe.

“Aye. I should’ve told you that a good while ago. But I knew you might not feel the same and I was hesitant to admit it for fear of…”

She did not let him finish. She was too busy kissing her dear fool’s lips.

 

* * *

 

 

Her lips were soft and sweet but their kisses soon grew heated as their tongues melded together in needful desperation.  He pressed his body close to hers as if he could never get enough closeness after being apart.  He cast off his cloak for them to lay upon in favor of the small woolen blanket.  He immediately drew her back into his arms, kissing her hungrily once more.     

“Wife,” he said hoarsely when they were both panting for breath. “I love you and have missed you so much. That’s my fault but I’m sorry for every second I’ve wasted when I might have been kissing you.”

Her eyes were darker than sapphires and the flush was creeping up her throat. He should take her back to the safety and privacy of the castle but no one was here save Ghost and the horse in their quiet glade.  But could his lady wife truly wish for this out in the open?

“I love you,” he said again before kissing her slowly with intent.

“And I love you,” she sighed, lying back for him.  

His heart pounded with joy and longing. His beloved loved him, too. “We should return to the…”

“Must we?” she teased.

"It wouldn't be proper to..."

"Maybe it's you worrying too much over what's proper now."

"Are you sure you wish to here?"

"I'm sure."

"After the grief I've caused you, I told myself it'd take more than a happy hour abed to mend things."

"You're right.  It will take _many_ happy hours abed to make up for all the time we've wasted...and we've not even reached a bed yet, husband.  Your wife has desires, Jon.  Does that shock you?"

"No, wife.  It delights me." 

He leaned over her, placing delicate kisses along her brow, her cheeks and nose before kissing her soft lips again. Sansa wiggled beneath him, her hands busily gliding across his leathers, stroking up and down his arms before she started fussing with the ties of his breeches. It was chilly out but not too cold for this. He was surprised the heat of their bodies was not making the air mist around them.

“Wait.” He stilled her hands. He might sink into that sweet bliss of her cunt soon enough but wanted to focus on her first. He rose to his knees and got between her legs, nudging her thighs apart as they worked together to lift the heavy skirts of her gown. Soon, he saw nothing but her stockinged legs and her lacy smallclothes. He let his hands glide along the soft wool of her stockings to the far softer silk of her legs. He gripped the top of her smallclothes with one hand. “Sorry,” he said before tearing them away.

She laughed, knowing he was not remotely sorry. “I’ll make you mend those.”

“Winter is coming.  A good time to sit by the fire and have you teach me how to use a proper needle. I can’t promise I’ll be any good but I’ll try if you wish.”

She grinned, shaking her head at him but gasped when he lowered his mouth to her mound and licked her nub. “Jon…”

He looked up from her thighs with a sly grin on his face. Certainly, he had more groveling and making up to do for all the nights he’d caused her anguish but if this would make it up to her even the slightest bit, he would happily spend all afternoon here as a start.

“Is this alright, wife? May I taste you?”

“Gods, yes.”

His hands grasped her hips as he buried his face into the red curls covering her sex. He felt her relax and her thighs sagged further apart. His eyes darted up to meet her blue ones. Up and down, his tongue teased her slit and nub. She cried out as his fingers joined his mouth and still he did not stop, too busy relishing all of her. He pleasured her until her legs shook and her hands were clutching at his hair.

“Up here,” she commanded.

He wiped off his mouth with another grin and crawled up her body, kissing her mouth. “I love watching you come apart for me, my love.”

She blushed as he knew she would but he also knew she did not mind him saying such things in these moments.

“Love me, Jon.”  She meant more than the physical act.  She was opening her arms and her heart to him.  

"Forever," he promised. 

They kissed again but he couldn't help thinking it was more than a simple kiss of love or desire.  It was a covenant of sorts, a pledge to always be honest and open with each other.  He had no intention of ever disappointing her in that.

When they were feverish with need, he hurriedly unlaced his breeches, his cock springing forth eagerly as he sank into the sweet comfort of her wet heat, grateful to hold her close though her belly was noticeably larger than it had been a moon ago.

“Hold on,” he said before rolling them over so she could be on top. She gasped delightedly as he held her by the waist. “That’s better now. Ride me, wife.”

Her moans and cries were music to his ears as her hips began to move, seeking the rhythm that would bring them both to their peak. He could not take his eyes off her. He wished he could suckle her breasts but they were still covered with them loving here in the open.

As if she read his mind though, Sansa deftly unlaced her bodice and shift enough to allow him access. He cupped the soft, warm flesh, savoring the weight of it in his hand.

“You’re beautiful, Sansa.”

“So are you,” she murmured as her eyes fluttered closed as she began to tighten around him.

He lapped at her breast contentedly and did not let bits of milk worry him now. He was wholly absorbed in making love to his wife, the woman he adored who would bear his child in a few moons time.

And as his wife reached her climax to be swiftly followed with his own, he could not help but lament how close he had come to spoiling their promising beginning through fear of losing it all. Jon would never make that mistake again.

 

* * *

 

 

After they were both sated and the sweat started to cool upon their bodies, Jon helped her to wipe away the seed and adjust her skirts before lacing himself back up.  He gathered her into his arms, holding her close upon the cloak in the blissful afterglow of loving. She knew they could not lie here indefinitely. It was not summer and they had responsibilities awaiting them elsewhere. But right now, she thought they needed the intimacy of this time together and she would treasure it.  All through the waning day, they talked and talked, sharing their hopes and fears and opening their hearts to one another in a way they had never before managed.

And when they returned to the castle, riding his horse together with Ghost following them as the final rays of sunlight left them in twilight, Sansa thought an audible sigh of relief could be heard coming from every person in Winterfell.  Perhaps they were merely glad to see them safely back home but Sansa believed otherwise.  From the stable hands and maids to the maester and Gilly and Sam, every resident of the castle smiled benevolently at their king and queen who had managed to weather the roughest patch of their young marriage thus far. 

_Our marriage is a work in progress perhaps but it will only grow stronger after today._

And, she was right.

In the ensuing nights and days, Jon did not hide himself away but spent every hour reaffirming what their hours in the Wolfswood had shown her of his heart.  And Sansa in turn spoke readily whenever her husband expressed his concerns for her approaching confinement. 

Of course, they would still quarrel upon occasion.  Naturally, there were times they made mistakes.  Perfection is not only impossible but very tiresome after all and only great fools expect it of their loved ones.  But so long as they could talk to each other, quarrels and mistakes could be dealt with along with fear and doubt. 

"Like my mother would say, a strong marriage takes work.  Stone by stone is how it's built," she'd told him one winter's night by their fire.  

Jon had smiled and agreed before cursing to himself over missing his stitch. Her smallclothes would never be the same but she could not say she cared as she'd sat there smothering her giggles at his efforts till he was laughing, too.  

Three moons later, she gave birth to a healthy son with Jon by her side.  It was unseemly perhaps for a husband to attend his wife in the birthing chamber but they had agreed that their marriage would not be dictated by other people's rules. 

They named their sweet boy Robb after his beloved uncle but he looked every inch a Stark with his father's grey eyes and dark hair.  Sansa did not consider herself remotely biased when she declared him the sweetest of babes.  And even when he kept them up crying and fussing for several nights in a row, Jon never once contradicted her.  

She had given her husband and their kingdom an heir but it did not keep Jon from their bed. It was true that they hoped to give Robb brothers and sisters in time but more than that, her husband did not wish to sleep elsewhere because he adored his wife.  Each night, Sansa fell asleep to the reassuring comfort of his arms around her or the sound of his snores as their babe nursed or snuffled in his cradle beside them.

And when the first anniversary of their wedding arrived, the two new parents allowed a nursemaid to take the boy off their hands so that they might have an undisturbed night together to celebrate.

Jon had given her all the time she needed to heal but nearly three moons had passed since the birth and she was ready to resume relations with her husband once more.

“My body is different,” she said uncertainly after she'd undressed and stood before him in her night rail.

“Your body is as beautiful to me as ever and it has given me our sweet boy. Have no fear, wife. I love all of you.”

And when he helped pull the night rail over her head, she knew he was being honest by the hungry look in his eyes.  

One of his hands cupped her breast. He licked his lips.

“There may be milk…lots of it,” she warned.

“Will it shock you if I say I have a thirst?”

“Jon!” she screeched, scandalized for a handful of seconds before she laughed. “No…it will not shock me at all.”

“My love,” he murmured as he held her close a short time later, his steady thrusts drawing forth sighs and moans. “Do I please you?” he asked, the wicked man.

“You do…so very much. I love you.”

“I love you, sweet wife.”

Theirs might not have been conceived as a love match when they’d wed but, with every passing day, it grew into one beyond the shadow of a doubt. And while the best marriages are built stone by stone with patience, trust and mutual respect, there is certainly a place for passion and desire in such unions as well.

Despite her initial fears over the intimate aspect of their marriage, Sansa was truly glad to have found joy in the marriage bed after finding only disappointment there in her previous marriage. But better than that was a husband who shared his heart with her and took tender care of her own.  While in turn Jon learned that different brand of courage which husbands and wives must develop to keep fear and doubt at bay...faith.

And as the years passed and their children grew, Jon and Sansa discovered another secret to lasting happiness in marriage that some sadly never do: it never ceases to be a work in progress needing love, patience and devotion to keep it blooming over time.

 

~The End~

* * *

 


End file.
